All Sorts of Things
by OliviaGracex35
Summary: What if Matthew had refused a ride home with Isobel in favor of talking to Mary? AU!MM one shot from S3.01.


"Matthew! Do come on! The chauffeur's freezing to death and so am I!"

Isobel's voice rang through Matthew's ears, but he chose to ignore her, placing all of his attention on his wife-to-be. "Are you looking forward to the wedding?" he asked her, barely able to suppress the smile on his face.

"What do you think?" Mary replied, the excitement evident in her voice. She fiddled with her long necklace absentmindedly as she watched him, her eyes sparkling with delight. _How long have we been waiting for this, Matthew?_

He fixed his piercing blue eyes on her, leaning towards her slightly. "I'm looking forward to all sorts of things." His eyes danced with mischief as a smirk slipped across his lips.

Her gaze fell to his feet for just a moment. "Don't make me blush," she said, smiling shyly at him. She lifted her eyes to look at him and suddenly he was leaning towards her even more, the desire evident in his eyes, and—

"Matthew!"

Isobel's voice snapped Mathew out of his Mary-induced trance. His head turned quickly to look at his mother and Robert, waiting for him at the door. His eyes flickered over to Mary for the briefest of moments before looking back to his mother. "Go on without me, Mother," he said, not daring to look at Mary for fear of being given away by her. "I think I might fancy the walk home tonight."

"Well…Alright," Isobel replied reluctantly, tightening her coat around her thin frame once more. She turned and quickly climbed into the car—_anything_ to get out of the cold.

Robert walked back into the Great Hall, watching the pair before him. He was so happy that his daughter and surrogate son were getting married, but you couldn't tell it by looking at his face. His brows were furrowed in confusion as his eyes shifted between the two of them. "I don't suppose I should leave you alone…" he said, his voice trailing off, unsure of where his chaperon duties lied with a couple to be married in two days.

"We'll be alright, Papa," Mary replied, pushing the playful flirtation from moments before out of her voice, "Matthew just has a few more questions about the ceremony."

Matthew was internally praising Mary for her quick thinking. He was so focused on her that he wasn't sure if he'd have been able to tell Robert his name if prompted. "Mary's right. I won't be long, and I should hate to keep you from sleeping."

Robert looked at Matthew one more time, closely, before deciding his fears were unwarranted. "Well, if you both are sure…I'll say goodnight." He nodded to the happy couple before beginning his ascent up the stairs.

"Why don't we continue our conversation in the library?" Matthew suggested, his smirk picking up where it left off, taking Mary by the elbow and guiding her into the secluded room before she could object.

Her stomach was doing somersaults in her torso as she willingly let him guide her somewhere they could be alone. _Alone._ How long had they been waiting for that? "Yes, what a good idea," she agreed, in case her papa was still in earshot.

He made sure the door closed behind the two of them before turning back to her. "Now," he began, taking a step towards her, "Where were we?"

The mischievous look in his eye had returned. Her fingers wound nervously around her necklace. "Why, Matthew," she said innocently, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play with me," he said as he took another step towards her, his mind harkening back to that fateful night when he had proposed for the first time. He could reach out and grab her and pull her to him, but he didn't. Not yet.

She raised an eyebrow at his words. She remembered that night all-too clearly. She had been so foolish not to accept him outright. But here they were, eight years later, their wedding imminent. Despite the lengthy build up, everything was as it should be. The thought brought her peace, even with Matthew staring at her ravenously, merely inches from her body. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I don't know what you're going on about," she replied coolly, her eyes flicking to his for a brief moment before looking around the library.

"Yes you do." He advanced on her and she backed away. He raised a brow at her. "What are you doing?" he asked, a laugh coloring his voice.

"Trying to make sure you keep your distance," she said, retreating further into the library, using the shelves as her shields.

"Mary," he began as he followed her, quickly closing the space between the two.

She placed a hand on his chest to stop him. "Matthew," she warned.

It didn't work. He lightly brushed his fingertips against the back of her hand, then trailed them down her arm, his eyes trained on her.

The butterflies returned to her stomach, making it harder to carry herself with a cool indifference. Goosebumps broke out all over her body at his touch, and she moved closer to him without even realizing it.

But Matthew noticed. A smirk flickered across his face, but he quickly forced it away; any sign of his delight would spook Mary like a horse. His gaze dropped to her lips for a moment before he kissed her, his free hand moving to her waist to draw her nearer.

Mary did not back away. His touch was electrifying and his kiss was intoxicating. She couldn't move, she couldn't pull away and pretend she didn't want to kiss him because she had been longing to all night. She slid her hand up his chest, both of them joining around his neck as she felt her hip brush briefly against his. He suppressed a groan, pushing her backwards until her back hit the bookshelf, pressing his body into hers. His hands rested on her hips, gripping the fabric in his hands, balling it up, desperate to rip it from her body to reveal her perfect, creamy skin. He flicked his tongue between her lips as if he were asking permission, waiting to see where she would draw the line.

She inhaled sharply, her lips quickly parting, inviting him to repeat his actions. Jumping at her approval, he flicked his tongue again before pushing it into her mouth, rubbing his against hers. She let out a moan, her hands winding around his thick, blond hair, tugging gently at it, her kiss urgent.

A low growl built in the back of his throat and released itself into her mouth, the sound audible regardless. He and Mary had never been so alone before, save for then night when he first proposed, when neither of them had been brave enough to do what they were doing now—or what he was about to do now. He freed one of his hands from her dress and reached down, gently lifting one of her legs and wrapping it around his waist. He pressed himself against her, kissing her deeply, slowly, as if he were trying to tease her.

She felt his arousal pressed against her and she wanted, more than anything, to give in to him, to let him ravish her against the bookshelf here and now, like they both wanted to. But a little voice was tugging at the back of her mind, telling her this could wait with their wedding two days away. "Matthew," she muttered against his lips, trying to get his attention. He hummed in response to her, unwilling to break the kiss he so longed for. She slid her hands back down his chest, rapping on him softly with her fingertips. "Matthew, we should stop."

He pulled back from her lips, his breathing heavy, his mind hazy, yet she looked unaffected. _How did she always remain so cool?_ "But Mary, surely you know how long we've been waiting for his." He moved his hand to caress her cheek and felt her leg slide back to where it belonged.

"I do," she replied knowingly, "Which is why I also know that we won't die if we wait two more days."

He gave a sigh, but he knew she was right. He released her, taking a step or two back to ensure it wouldn't happen again. "Alright, you win," he said, feigning sadness at her statements. "You best see me out, then."

She linked her arm through his happily, escorting him back out into the Great Hall and towards the door. "Don't look so upset," she said with a smile, "Two days will pass quicker than you realize."

"But not quick enough," he said, the long-lost smirk finding its way back to his lips.

She giggled softly, feeling the blush creep up in her cheeks. "Goodness, you make it sound as though you will be counting the seconds," she teased.

"Maybe I will." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek—he couldn't bear to kiss her lips without replaying their recent escapade. "Goodnight, Mary," he whispered, his voice low and husky in his throat, thick with unsatisfied desire, "I love you."

"I love you too," she murmured happily. She watched him bow his head to her quickly before turning around and exiting the house, walking down the familiar path to Crawley House. As she watched his back retreat into the darkness, a hand found its way to her still-tingling lips.

She didn't know what other tricks Matthew Crawley had up his sleep, but she certainly couldn't wait to find out.


End file.
